Loris and Nichols lifted their brows as they turned toward each other. “I’m afraid,” said the girl. “Something is not right, Harry.”
“It’s the only way we’ll ever find out what this man means. If they take him away without letting him talk over the ’phone we’ll never know. Leave things to Mr. Drew. He’s armed! I’m armed! There’s no danger!”
“Get downstairs to the library!” Drew ordered. “Do what this man wants. Shout into the transmitter. Go now!”
Delaney lunged through the tapestries and unlocked the door to the hall. He paused there in thought. He turned and glanced back.
“Hurry!” exclaimed Drew. “Hurry now!”
The big operative cursed audibly as he descended the two flights of carpeted steps. He nodded to the Central Office man at the library door. He passed inside, rounded the table and stood by the ’phone. He picked up the receiver. His eyes wandered along the floor as he waited. A dark spot showed on the hardwood. It was where the millionaire’s blood had gushed forth from the bullet hole in the base of his brain.
“Gramercy Hill 9-7-6-4!” said Delaney with a bull’s voice.
“B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-r!” sounded from the ringing-box of the silver plated telephone in the sitting-room of Loris Stockbridge’s suite.
The prisoner pulled at the chain as he leaned toward the telephone. “It’s ringing,” he said in a thin whisper. “Let me—let me listen in.”
Drew studied the entire situation before he granted permission. Loris and Nichols were framed between the silken portières. The captain held his army regulation revolver at his hip. Loris leaned forward with her dark eyes smoldering and intent. The blood had left her cheeks. They were white and tersely set. She seemed older to Drew. He smiled reassuringly, dropped his gun to his hip, pressed it against the prisoner and shoved him toward the ’phone as a “B-r-r-r-r-” sounded above the lifting roar of Delaney’s voice in the depths of the great mansion.